


painkillers pt i - a little bit of heartache

by solipsismlemonade



Series: midnight streets [1]
Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Batman - Freeform, Bruce Wayne - Freeform, Drabble, Gotham, Monologuing, Multi, Painkillers, Promiscuity, batman's a man hoe but we knew this, bi batman, bruce wayne does occasionally drive himself yes, dc, drug use but for a good reason, gothic gotham imagery yw, gray being dumb, many drabbles, our fav dumbass bi, tags?? what are they
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-02-23 06:41:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23073931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solipsismlemonade/pseuds/solipsismlemonade
Summary: painkillers - rainbow kitten surprise
Series: midnight streets [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1658302
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	painkillers pt i - a little bit of heartache

Stone and steel skyscrapers reached up around Bruce to pierce an overcast sky, dark and foreboding. The streets were crowded with early-morning traffic but pedestrians were few, thankfully. His car matched the architecture and the sky, a gunmetal grey that gleamed in the sunlight that managed to force its way past the cloud cover. A gargoyle on the street corner snarled out over the traffic light, stone face distorted into a rictus grin, claws gripping its green-stained stone corner, the stone itself a dun tan.

Bruce felt a little like that gargoyle; tense and waiting, snarling at everything he could see and something he couldn’t, claws – no, fingers – gripping the only lifeline he had. He was strangling the steering wheel with white knuckles, he realized, glaring ferociously at the oblivious red traffic light through the tinted windshield.

He could run the red light.

The intersection was busy but he could make it.

Bruce Wayne, billionaire playboy, would make it through and count his lucky stars, laugh it off with a few not-quite friends later.

Batman, vigilante, was already calculating the speed and direction he’d need to take.

Uncapping a little plastic orange bottle with a flick of his thumb, Bruce chased the thought with a little yellow pill, dry swallowing and ignoring the sting in his throat. Naproxen, a corner of his brain whispered. Nonsteroidal anti-inflammatory drug. Used for headache, muscle aches, joint swelling…

Drumming his fingers on the steering wheel and letting his eyes flick to the gargoyle one more time, Bruce surged forward at the switch of the green light, engine roaring to life under him as he stomping the gas – fast, too fast, ease up a little – and glanced around as he slid on a pair of mirrored sunglasses.

Bruce Wayne’s excuse was that yes, he was hungover again – and wasn’t he just constantly between drunk and hungover? – and hey, he looked good in everything, especially designer shades that cost as much as someone else’s car. This was a win, really.

Batman knew that he had a concussion (again) from being thrown into a wall by a steroid-hopped up Bane and that the swelling would take two days to go down. He also knew that if this kept up, the migraines would become chronic, even as a corner of his mind was methodically listing solutions. Naproxen, acetaminophen, aspirin, ibuprofen, or a variety of the stronger things he had lined up in neat rows down in the Cave. One solution he never thought about – deliberately _didn’t_ think about – was quitting.

 _Ease up_. Bruce unwrapped white fingers from the steering wheel and took a corner too fast, tires squealing for purchase as someone honked behind him, loud and ineffective.

Drives were different without Alfred.

The headache subsided and Bruce slid neatly to a stop outside Wayne Enterprises – the building – _his_ building – and tossed the keys to a short, brown-eyed valet with a hint of stubble lining his jaw and an unbuttoned uniform jacket. His white tag named him Eric; Bruce could tell that he was new from the slightly-uncertain way he stood and the way his eyes snagged and lingered on the clean, strong lines of Bruce’s face. Several generations of aristocratic breeding had gifted Bruce with looks that he used as yet another weapon in his arsenal, and an effective one at that.

“Thanks…” he said airily, readjusting the lines of his suit made by some clever-fingered Italian man and threw a rakish grin to the valet in the same manner he’d given his keys away. “Eric. Park it close by, would you? I won’t be long.”

The valet would provide a good cover story for a night, maybe even a few if he played his cards right.

“Yeah. Yeah, sure, Mr. Wayne,” the valet replied, sliding in through the still-open door of the sleek Aston martin.

“Please, just Bruce.” He gifted the valet with yet another carefully calculated smile before pushing the doors open and striding in like he owned the building – which he did, and that was still something to get over.

It hadn’t always been _his_ building.

Bruce swallowed this thought down and ignored where his father’s name used to be, dazzling grin already in place as he paced up to the elevator, greeting the giggly brunette receptionist with a wave and a seconds’ worth of small talk.

Showtime.

**Author's Note:**

> painkillers - rainbow kitten surprise


End file.
